A Prophecy of Seven
by ViolinElectrician
Summary: It was true that the Next Great Prophecy might not have begun until generations after the life of Percy Jackson. But that isn't the case, is it?
1. Author's Note

**There will be no Jason, Piper or Leo in this story as of now. I haven't even finished 'The Lost Hero' yet, so I don't feel comfortable writing about them. This story takes place where 'The Last Olympian' leaves off because I feel very comfortable writing for that. If anybody has any suggestions for potential story lines, you can leave them in the form of a review and if I use them I will credit you. I tried to write a 'Percy Jackson' story about a year ago, I believe. You can go back and read it; you will realize that my story was poorly constructed, my character had a stupid name, was in a band, psychically learned Percy's name, among other things, I'm pretty sure I changed POV in the last part of the second chapter, she… for some reason, lived in Tokyo and Percy magically found her… and, last but not least, actually painfully the worst part of Mary-Sue-ness, she was also Zeus' daughter. I'm serious. It is **_**dreadful**_** for me to read it. I'm going to try my best to keep my character from being a Mary-Sue and I hope everyone who reads this likes my story ;) **

**Also, imagine the movie setting with the book's storyline. That is where I've set this story. Sorry, I have a soft spot for Logan Lerman and Brandon T. Jackson 0.0**


	2. Shailene

**_Shailene_**

* * *

><p><em>Seven half-bloods shall answer the call.<em>

_To storm or fire, the world must fall._

_An oath to keep with a final breath_

_And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death._

* * *

><p>I would say I was in no hurry, but that would be a lie. Once I was out of this place, I would be in no hurry. But in this classroom, with my phenomenally bad report card hovering over my head, I wanted to be anywhere else—after, of course, I had conveniently 'lost' my grades. The teachers—all the while sickeningly cheerful—called this day 'Report Card Day,' as if it was supposed to be some fun day. I'm sure it was, for good students. But not many people I'd ever talked to had fun getting a report card so bad it would make a high school dropout want to hit them over the head with a rock just to put their parents out of their misery.<p>

I didn't even know what was worse; that, or the hour long lecture on why John Wilkes Booth was a bad dude. Honestly, if he would have just gotten the heck out of my books, I probably would have loved the guy forever. I would've made him my dead 'BFF.' I might have even added a heart to the end of his name, or an extra 'F.' I knew a lot about those. I just wanted to get up and leave. The clock hand wasn't moving fast enough to make this last minute of class bearable. I looked up at the clock and began to count down from sixty. I soon realized, however, that counting the seconds makes time move even slower, so I gave up on that.

I began fiddling with my hair, curling a stray black strand around my finger and flipping my bangs to keep my eyes from shutting. I probably looked like a spaz, tapping my feet, jerking my head and twirling my hair. Oh, well. At least I was awake. Eventually, I got the nerve up to look at the clock, expecting something dreadful like thirty seconds to three or maybe forty. _Ring!_ Saved by the bell, as they say—thank the gods, was my only thought. I quickly swept my books into my bag and stood up, trying to make a beeline for the door. Two feet from the door when behind me, I heard the clearing of a throat. I turned around.

"Mrs. Kennedy," I said, faking a smile.

"Miss Guller," she said rather sourly. "I don't wish to keep you from your... personal business... but, please do try to get your report card to your mother before you... _lose_ it."

"Right. Well, no promises, Mrs. K. You know how I am."

"At least give it a _try_," she urged. There was a pause.

"Nah, she probably already knows how it ends," I said suddenly. Mrs. Kennedy sighed.

"I'm sure she does..." That drawling tone, the disappointment in her voice; it wasn't as if I minded disappointing my teachers, but whatever happened to supportive teachers? For all she knew, she could have been the one demoralizing me. She _wasn't,_ but she just as easily could have been. I didn't give her another chance to crush my learning bug—for her sake, let's pretend I had one. I turned around and rushed out the door. I pushed my way through the student body, all seemingly crammed into one hallway, and finally got out the door. I couldn't run the three blocks to the Natural History Museum fast enough but once I got to the doors, my sense of hurry went away. I walked right up to the counter and gave my usual fourteen dollars to the girl behind the counter. Her name was Miranda. She was twenty-one years old and went to the University. She had to work at the University's museum in order to pay for her deadbeat roommate's half of their apartment. We knew each other well from all of the time I spent at the museum. After counting the money, she handed me back five dollars.

"Just pretend you're twelve," she whispered, smiling. I didn't mind that. I blinked and nodded, walking past her. I looked back and when she wasn't looking, slipped the five dollars into her purse. I was sure it broke some sort of rule, but it was a good deed and I'd never been caught before. I made my way across the museum and stopped in front of a statue of Zeus, king of the Olympians. A figure came up next to me. I observed him for a second; he wore sneakers, jeans, and a blue jacket which was zipped up so that the only word that could be read on his shirt was 'Half.' He had black side swept hair and pretty sea green eyes. I looked back at the statue. Standing this close to someone I didn't know was awkward for me. I readied myself to move on to another display.

"Kind of pompous, don't you think?" the boy asked. I soon realized that he was asking me. "Zeus, I mean," he told me with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, he's the king of Olympus. Of course he must be a little... self-inflated. But, I mean, that's assuming he's real."

"Hmm," he nodded. "You come here often?"

"Is that a joke?" I asked incredulously. The left corner of his mouth twitched up slightly.

"No. It's just that most teenagers don't wander into a museum of their own accord."

"You did."

"Mhm... Do you have a learning disability?" he asked. I looked up. What kind of question was that?

"Yeah... I have ADHD," I told him. He nodded.

"Good."

"Good?" That wasn't good. What was up with this kid?

"Yes. It means I would probably be right to say that you are Shailene." I took a step back.

"How did you know my name?" I asked. He was just getting to be a little... creeper.

"My boss sent me for you; a half-blood without a protector."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm all American, not half anything."

"Very funny, girl. You're a demigod." I stepped back further until I tripped and landed on the base of Poseidon's statue. "Come with me and I'll show you," he said, extending his hand.

"That's impossible. Get away from me." There was a flash in his eyes, like lightning. The boy I had just met began to transform before my very eyes. His skin grew pale. He began to resemble a black angel. Rain, wind and lightning flickered in wings that appeared seemingly from nowhere. "Anemoi Thuellai." I pushed myself back until I fell off of the base and onto the floor. "But you're not supposed to be real." The museum erupted in screams.

"Robber, robber! Gun!" a woman shouted. I didn't know what she was talking about. This 'robber' had no gun. He had lightning eyes but no gun. Did they not see his wings? The many civilians bolted for the door, realizing that the only person this thing cared about was me.

"Oh, civilians. So clueless. They'll believe anything but the truth," it said. Soon we were alone in the museum. I would love to tell you that I got into a cool fight with the thing, breaking statues and ripping paintings, like you would've seen in a movie. That's not what happened, and that's not what I _thought _was going to happen when I was cornered with a statue of Poseidon. What I was really thinking was, _I'm going to die._ Yeah, that about sums it up… "Now, little half-blood, how about I be hospitable and give you a choice. You can choose to die the hard way, or the harder way."

"Is there a third choice, by any chance?" I said, sounding more confident than I felt.

"Afraid not… So which will it be?"

"Can I maybe have time to think it over?"

"Tick, tock, tick, tock… Time's up. What's it going to be, then?"

"Please? Just a little time?" The storm spirit shrugged and rolled it's lightning eyes.

"Okay, fine," it groaned. "I'll give you five seconds. Five… four…" I stood up. I didn't really have a plan other than kick him where it hurts, assuming it wasn't asexual or something, and make a run for it, and he had wings so the chances of me getting away were zero to nothing. "Three… two…"

"_One._" The creature spun around.

"Hey, no fair! Who finished my countdown? I called dibs on this one!" it shouted, clearly expecting to see another of his own kind trying to steal his kill. Instead he saw himself—or rather what he had been before he transformed into the impatient angel of the Underworld. I kept expecting the sea green eyed boy to sprout evil flashing wings, but it didn't happen so I felt slightly at ease. Slightly—can't say that boy wonder really comforted me all that much. He hadn't done anything yet.

"I'm—I'm coming!" a voice shouted. Another boy shot through the door on crutches, wearing… furry brown pants... _I'm doomed._ "Percy, there are more out there!" Okay, so the pretty eyed boy was Percy.

"Ah, Percy Jackson. A much better prize than the little one." The Anemoi Thuellai was distracted. It was my chance to make a move. Now, let me just say that what I did next was _not_ something I was proud of. Desecrating statues of grumpy looking sea gods was not something I did on a regular basis. But this was life or death.

So, I did it; I reached up and, with all of the strength I could muster and my full body weight behind me, snapped Poseidon's trident, hand and all, off of his statue. With only the hope that storm spirits weren't immune to stone, I lifted the trident in to the air and struck my assailant right on top of the head. I let go of the trident and it slid across the floor. I looked down expecting to see an angry storm spirit getting off of the ground. Instead, there was nothing more than a little pile of gold dust. I looked across the room at the two boys who had come to my rescue and not done a thing.

"What did I just do?" I asked as the one whose name I didn't know ran over to me—losing his crutches along the way—and grabbed my arm. It was only then that I realized that he didn't have on furry pants—he had freaking hairy goat legs. "Go—goat—Satyr," I stuttered.

"Very good," he said to me like I was a child. "I'm Grover, and that's Percy. Now, let's get out of here before Fairy-Dust's buddies show up." I didn't exactly want to follow a satyr and a boy I'd never met before off to wherever, but it didn't look as if I had any other choice. I let Grover the Satyr and Percy Jackson lead me out of the museum.

"Where are we going to go?" I finally managed to ask. "They'll just follow us," I added as we emerged outside. A group of about ten Anemoi Thuellai had gathered and was flying in a large circle over the street we were on.

"We're going to take you to a safe place."


End file.
